The Inner Life
by mariu100
Summary: Booth and Brennan's individual reactions to the pregnancy news, and an accounting of the 24 hours following Vincent's death. In this conclusion, our duo finds themselves at a crossroads while waiting for Vincent's body to be taken away. Can they connect?
1. Pregnant

Pregnant.

She looked at the plastic strip in front of her. The one with the little window showing two lines. She had bought the kit with two just in case, because although there was little doubt in her mind as to the high accuracy rate of these types of commercial tests, she was a scientist and had wanted, needed, the reassurance of repetition. Hypothesis based on observation. Test hypothesis. Repeat test.

This was the second strip. The second one that revealed two unmistakable blue parallel lines. She'd been careful to read the instructions beforehand, in case she became too unsettled to make sense of them afterwards. Not that there had been a remote question about her ability to process the information under any circumstance, because Dr. Temperance Brennan was very smart and quite capable of remaining objective even under duress. At least most of the time. But she read the instructions prior nevertheless, just in case and because recent events had shown her that no one, not even she, was immune to the effects of deep emotion.

Detached and collected regardless of what the evidence revealed; those were her very words earlier this morning when she'd all but made up her mind to purchase the pregnancy test. At the time, there had existed a measure of conviction that she'd be able to retain some semblance of professionalism even in her personal life regardless of outcome. It just didn't seem appropriate for a world-renowned forensic anthropologist to be caught indulging in adolescent theatrics. Whatever the result, she was a full grown woman who could handle even the most unexpected.

Except that standing in the cramped bathroom stall of the hospital where one of her best friends was waiting to give birth, she wasn't feeling detached and collected at all. There was something peculiar and very visceral about this current experience-something that Booth would have qualified as a stemming from her "gut". And even though she had always dismissed that word as lacking any concrete, scientific definition, it certainly seemed to apply to her present situation.

Definitely pregnant, then. Of course these tests weren't foolproof. No one could so accurately provide the figures and probabilities involving scientific certainty better than she, except maybe for Zack or perhaps poor Mr. Nigel-Murray. One hundred percent accuracy in anything was improbable if not impossible. And hadn't Angela's test provided a false positive in the not so distant past? She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, her nose filling with the pungent smell of disinfectant, trying to regain some composure.

Yes, taken by itself there was a small probability that the test didn't mean she was gravid. But there had been other signs, other evidence that should have alerted her to the possibility earlier. In her defense, they were signs easily associated with an impending period: fullness in her breasts, slight abdominal tenderness, a vaguely upset stomach along with some amount of tiredness. She had never been exactly "regular" as other women would have used the term, and when she found a few traces of blood in her underwear some weeks ago the occurrence had been dismissed as a menstrual period most possibly suppressed by stress. And there had been plenty of stress lately, along with other more pleasurable things as well.

Except now she was sure, regardless of probabilities, that the blood hadn't been a period at all but most likely the after-effects of a fertilized egg implanting itself in her uterine lining. The exact moment, days after the actual event, that her and Booth's actions on the morning following Vincent's death had taken concrete form-the form of a baby.

Booth. Her mind went back to the fun they had shared today "pretending" to be girlfriend and boyfriend in the bowling alley, terms that were ludicrous on their face because she was a woman, not a girl, and Booth was most definitely not a boy. It was the first time they had been even remotely demonstrative to each other out in public and she was forced to admit that it felt good to openly claim him, ring firmly on her finger, as hers. And even though she suspected that Max might have noticed something being amiss, she considered herself to be a good actress and felt that they had pulled it off regardless of Booth's incautious-and overly possessive-kiss.

It had definitely been an enjoyable day even as she kept pushing pregnancy thoughts as far away from her mind as she could, at least until a stop at the drugstore could clarify matters once and for all. True, the sudden revulsion she felt at the smell in the bowling alley and that lively conversation about the shrewish child bowler and the likelihood of such a progeny for Wanda and Buck kept causing the pregnancy alarms to go off in her brain, but the case came first and she would cope. Except that now the case was done and the evidence had been collected. All that remained was finding the courage to tell him and the strength to wait for his reaction.

Of course, Booth was Booth. And a baby to Booth was a baby, regardless of its embryonic stage. There was no doubt that he would do the right thing, whatever that was, and might even lull himself into believing he was happy over the news. But while she was brilliant at many things, she had acknowledged long ago to herself that reading people was not one of her better skills and she feared that in this one instance she could not be trusted to read him and his reaction accurately.

Did she want him to be happy? Even more relevant to the situation, did she want to be happy?

The second kit was tucked back into the box along with the first one, and the whole thing shoved deep down into her purse. It seemed tawdry and sad to leave the strips behind in a public bathroom, as though they were evidence of something nefarious and shameful. How ironic that tomorrow's doctors' visit, the one she had scheduled weeks ago for the purpose of being prescribed contraceptive pills, would now only serve to confirm what it had been meant to prevent.

So what, exactly, was happiness anyway? It could be defined scientifically as a sudden release of endorphins triggered by a pleasurable experience which results in a temporary state of euphoria, but this didn't seem like a sufficiently descriptive definition as of late. Because for a few weeks now and up until this moment she had been happy, had understood its meaning in the most personal of ways, and now knew that no scientific term could possibly encompass the fullness of the word. Booth made her happy. Their relationship made her happy. And the baby? She wasn't sure. She had wanted a baby before-his specifically-but that had been a simpler time when nothing but a well-planned visit to a fertility clinic was required. But now? They had flirted furiously for years, they had paid their dues in spades, and they had just started dating, a word that was both quaint and yet amusingly appropriate. Had just started discovering what partnership meant on a whole, new intimate level and the baby…she just wasn't sure what a baby would bring to that equation.

Some part of her felt that the whole situation seemed unfair, if such an expansive concept really even existed. Her very use of the word was yet another reminder of just how thoroughly her partner's thoughts and expressions had infiltrated her lexicon, along with so many other areas of her life. Yet, unfair seemed like the correct word. Because they had fought, and teased, and hurt each other, and provided comfort for almost seven years, and yet only now were they taking a chance on something more, something unabashedly primal and deep that seemed to require more by way of exploration than the unencumbered few weeks they had been given.

And it had been good. More than good-it had been almost beyond description, which was high praise indeed considering that she had spent her whole life acquiring an arsenal of terms to describe and categorize all that she knew.

Her thoughts flew back to the morning before, when she had entered the lab a bit late and utterly oblivious to the fact that she looked slightly disheveled. Angela, with a large belly in precedence, had given her one of her "looks," alerting her to the fact that she would be duly providing some unintended amusement for her friend. After having unceremoniously sent Hodgins off somewhere else as usual, she proceeded, in the most innuendo filled way, to make her point. "Having some fun this morning, I see?" Angela was, quite irritatingly, making no effort to conceal her glee. "I don't know what you're referring to, Angela." Except that she sort of knew, but it was too late to do anything about it. Angela smiled knowingly and pointed a finger in her direction, making a little motion while looking at Brennan's midriff. Feeling herself blush in a way she couldn't recall ever doing, she touched her side to discover that the shirt that had been pretty thoroughly untucked from her pants earlier today had only partly been shoved back in.

"Wow, still going at it like bunnies, huh?"

She opened her mouth to object to the observation, since it was patently obvious that rabbits, belonging to an entirely different animal species than humans, had little in common with people when it came to their copulating habits, but certain recent events came to mind and all she could manage was a wide-eyed, open-mouthed expression.

"Oh Bren, sweetie, don't take it personally. I'm only teasing. I'm happy for you, for the two of you. God knows I've been waiting forever to say that line. Besides, I'm not getting any at this point so the least you can do is let me live vicariously through you. So that good, huh?"

A detailed explanation was definitely not in order, so she shrugged her shoulders and looked away with a suppressed smile. Definitely good; just about every horizontal and vertical surface in both of their apartments could provide ample evidence to support that conclusion.

"Yes; that good. But I'm not giving any details no matter what, so I urge you not to bother blackmailing me regarding my appearance."

The events that led to the untucked shirt were still fresh on her mind when she absently greeted Hodgins on her way to the lab's bathroom. She and Booth had been in his SUV, having a perfectly pleasant and completely inconsequential conversation when Booth pulled into a spot a suitable distance from the Jeffersonian's personnel entrance to drop her off for work. He was going on to his office, so he leaned into her to give her a small kiss, an action she had let him indulge in before and would continue to allow because they were still inside the car and it was unlikely that someone would see them. And besides, she liked it.

Why they still kept up the secrecy of their involvement was a topic of discussion between them, but it was an act that they both found unaccountably amusing. Maybe it was more of "what's between us is ours" or maybe it was because it felt vaguely illicit and naughty to keep up their little conspiracy, perhaps another instance of "you've got to be bad to be good." Whatever the reason, and Sweets and his nosiness had been used as a scapegoat often, the secrecy remained. Of late though, there were signs that despite their best efforts, it was becoming increasingly difficult to hide their displays of affection towards each other when they were out in the open (although she maintained she did a much better job at it than he did) and she "had a feeling" (there he was again) that the proverbial feline would be out of the cave soon.

The kiss started out light, but she had caught a little gleam in his eye that bode ill for her and which immediately made her think of Caroline and that prosecutor's celebrated puckishness. They seemed so unaccountably similar so often, Booth and Caroline, that it was sometimes difficult to think of them as anything but relatives, despite the fact that they looked nothing alike. It also helped that the older woman almost always took Booth's side on everything. So she prepared herself for some possible mischief on his part when his kiss suddenly turned deep and unbridled, leaving thoughts of Caroline and family resemblances far behind. It was unprofessional certainly, but it was also very good, so she allowed it to proceed with some help from her own lips and tongue when in one deft move she felt her shirt pulled out of her pants and a warm, large hand replace it against the skin of her back. The motion was quick and unexpected and it largely wiped out her ability to react, until the hand found its way to her abdomen and then underneath her bra to cup a full breast with rampant enthusiasm.

"Booth!"

She pulled hard on his hand and gave him an indignant stare.

"We're in front of the Jeffersonian!" she went on with some heat.

"You of all people should know there are surveillance cameras everywhere, even outside."

Penitent silence followed, along with a clearly unpracticed apology.

"Gosh Bones, I'm sorry. I swear I don't know what came over me."

He looked truly contrite as he leaned back into his seat and she felt vaguely and unexpectedly sorry for him, but a line had to be drawn nevertheless, so the reprimand continued.

"We've discussed this before. If we're going to continue to work together and have a relationship we have to keep our personal life out of our jobs. Otherwise, it's just too difficult and messy. I have to become-and remain-a professional when I get into this car in the morning."

And that was a lie, she knew, because that same government-issued car had seen some pretty vigorous make-out sessions immediately after work, sessions that would have been a reminder of her adolescence except for the fact that this had been a quite sexually uneventful period in her life.

Thoughts of make-out sessions aside, she sternly jammed the shirt back into her pants as well as she could and without giving him much time to respond, opened the car door and got out.

"Bones, Bones, I'm sorry. I swear, I won't do that again. Ever. Please don't be mad."

He had jumped out of his side in flash, belying his FBI reflexes, and reached out to her with naked panic in his eyes. She relented almost immediately. Really, it hadn't been that big of an infraction. Certainly nothing that should leave him fearful and downcast all day. It was just too easy to hurt him, and she vowed to continue working on the delivery and tone of her responses to him in the future. Besides, she admitted that she was too easy to rile. Evidently, there was still a lot of room for improvement in their interactions with each other. Letting out a resigned breath, she looked into his worried eyes.

"It's okay, Booth. I overreacted. Just a little. Although you," "we" she amended quickly, "need to work on keeping our personal and work lives separate. It's going to get us into trouble otherwise-you more than me, given that you work for a bureaucratic agency that is quite unforgiving of individual actions and I pretty much dictate the terms of my employment."

Relaxing as her tone went from stern to beseeching, and despite the unintentional insult, he ended up giving her one of those butterfly-inducing, little boy smiles which she had finally allowed herself to fully succumb to after all these years.

"Alright Bones. I promise. I'm really going to work on it. Work here" he motioned to one side with his hands "and personal here." Another motion. "I totally get it. See, I'm smarter than I look. I've been telling you that forever, but you still don't see it."

He tapped his head and she had a sudden impulse to laugh with him and ruffle his perfectly styled hair, one of his few but endearing vanities. Instead, she decided on something entirely different.

"Yes you are" she said wickedly, and just as she leaned closer and made it appear that he was going to be the recipient of a kiss, much to his delight, she discretely stroked the front of his pants with her index finger several times, all the while looking straight into his scandalized eyes. She turned on her heels and briskly and professionally walked off, stopping only to look over her shoulder to state matter-of-factly "have a good day, Booth."

* * *

><p>Washing her hands under the fluorescent lights of the bland but perfectly functional hospital bathroom, she considered her image in the mirror. It was the same person she had seen yesterday morning composing herself after the shirt incident, yet it was not. She had left her apartment as a sex kitten that day, Angela's own phrase for her of late, and would be returning to it as a maternal figure tonight. Because a determination had been reached that no matter what, she would keep and raise the child. She had wanted one before and was certainly in a position to take care of all of its needs, even without the help of a mate.<p>

More than that though, she couldn't even contemplate terminating her pregnancy because of what it would have done to Booth. She had always defended the right of women to have options because she had witnessed firsthand what women went through all over the world when they could not. But although Booth never argued with her on that point and might have even been reluctantly sympathetic to her views, she knew deep down he thought it was wrong and would never be able to forgive her if she chose out of convenience not carry his child to full term. Whatever else happened, it was almost a certainty that this was the one thing their relationship would not be able to survive. She wouldn't allow herself to consider doing that to them-to him-or to their child for that matter, regardless of the impact the situation would have on her life or on the tentative nature of their current status.

She paused at the edge of the waiting room in an effort to find some semblance of equanimity. Several of their colleagues had arrived since she had left on her personal mission, so she took an exploratory look before deciding where to sit. Not feeling the least bit chatty, she avoided being anywhere near Sweets or Cam. Wendell had always been intimidated by her and even though that would put her dangerously close to Booth, it was the best available option.

"Where'd you go? I thought you were going to the bathroom. I was ready to send a search party out for you."

Although it was obvious he was joking, she also knew that he wasn't because for years he'd done nothing but worry over the people he cared about, even in the most innocuous of situations.

"I went looking for a card for Angela."

"Still? I told you, she's not going to care. Look Bones, let it go. It just isn't that important. So anyway, did you find one?"

At the shake of her head he lifted his eyebrows in mock exasperation. "I tell you, she's gonna love the bunny" he said grinning now and waving a giant stuffed rabbit in the air. "Besides, no one really reads those things." At this, he turned his attention to Sweets and a conversation that seemed to contain several references to the word "awesome", and once again she was left alone with her thoughts.

The mention of the card made her cringe a little. She had come to accept that lies, specifically as Booth called them, "little white lies" (although she still puzzled over the reference to color) were somewhat of a necessity when engaging in social discourse. Still, as a scientist whose main objective was always the pursuit of the truth, lying, even when it was perceived as white and small, made her uncomfortable. After they turned the pathetic manager of the bowling alley over for booking, Booth insisted on stopping at her apartment for a quick shower before heading over to the hospital. He emphasized quick, because he knew she was anxious to see her friend but really, she hadn't needed too much convincing about the detour. They both benefited from it; he'd feel better after the shower and it would give her the opportunity to go on her pharmacy excursion without him.

So the story of the card had been concocted when he asked her where she was going; she figured she had sounded impressively convincing.

"Anthropologically," a word that inevitably made his eyes glaze over a little, "a gift and a card are expected exchanges which denote interest and concern in these situations. I believe that Angela would be disappointed if she didn't receive both. I'm only doing my part to further our joint social contracts Booth, especially now that we are a couple."

He rolled his eyes and headed to the shower and she knew she had pulled it off, no matter how ridiculous her words had sounded even to her. What she had neglected to do on her errand was to actually buy the card, so that upon her return and as he was still dressing she found herself having no immediate answer to give as to where the card was. Shrugging her shoulders to gain time, she settled on saying something somewhat true: no card seemed to have an appropriate and tempered sentiment. No card she had ever seen actually had, she mused, finding some comfort in the veracity of the response. He wondered if she wanted to shower too, but now there was a mounting feeling of concern over Angela, so she opted for washing her face and combing her hair instead. The test would have to wait; the likelihood of Booth walking in on her was too high. Minutes later, with a pregnancy test well-concealed at the bottom of her purse and a floppy bunny firmly under Booth's arm, they headed down to meet the impending new arrival.

* * *

><p>She kept stealing glances at him. He looked so happy and relaxed and it definitely did something to her to see him that way. Admiring his easy rapport with their coworkers, the way he could joke and laugh with them, it made her feel just a little too self-satisfied that he was her "boyfriend" regardless of the fact that almost no one knew yet. Definitely not a rational thought, but lately she seemed to be having fewer and fewer of these.<p>

It didn't hurt of course that he was distractingly good to look at. Wearing the bowling clothes again because all he had at her place were sweats and old t-shirts, he had settled on new underwear and a shave by way of compromise. But no matter, bowling shirt or not, he was extremely attractive to her as she let her eyes linger on his broad shoulders and the ruggedly masculine lines of his face, almost always softened by twinkling eyes (not her words, but accurate nevertheless) and a very effective "charm smile." An unlikely and mesmerizing combination of equal parts boyish and virile-and she realized once again that she was developing a most inappropriate crush on her partner.

How was it possible, after all these years together, to feel this way? Sweets could surely have lectured hours on the subject, expositions involving suppression and repression and other ethereal and unscientific theories. It was conceivable that he'd be right. Whatever the case, it was ridiculous to be carried away by this giddiness every time she was near him, and she hoped that at least some of this unexpected impact of their relationship on her chemical processes would subside soon. Of course, sometimes he still exasperated her beyond belief. She clung to this as a good sign that she wasn't losing all of her mental faculties of late, despite all other evidence to the contrary.

The doors to the waiting room opened and Hodgins stepped out with a tiny wrapped bundle in his arms. Automatically putting away the phone she had been hiding behind for the last half hour, she stood up with the bunny in hand. Hodgins looked so relieved, overjoyed really, it had to be good news for the baby's eyesight.

Sweets, Cam, Wendell, Booth-they were all there, crowding around an impossibly small and fragile being. But she couldn't bear anything more than a glance. The whole scene had an unreal quality to it, leaving her feeling vaguely adrift. She had to know; was compelled by a fierce need to know; to know from her friend if things had changed already and in what way. She headed to the recovery room by herself only stopping once to look in Booth's direction. He had the most open of smiles on his face, the face of a man who had happily been in Hodgins' situation once himself. His eyes sparkled warmly as they met hers, and she went through the waiting room doors wondering whether she would ever see him sporting such an unclouded expression in reference to herself ever again.


	2. Great Day

Wow. Had it been a good day, or what? A good, good day. Great in fact, and it was only getting better. Not even the hospital atmosphere could change that. An undercover assignment, a solved crime and now little Michael Stacatto Vincent Hodgins showing himself to be a perfectly healthy baby boy.

And by the way, Bones had been his girl all day. The whole day, in front of everyone, including her ever-watchful dad. It shouldn't make him this deliriously happy-it really shouldn't. But it did. He'd oh so casually suggested that she pose as his girlfriend for the case and instead of arguing she had jumped, practically leapt at the idea with the zeal that only Bones could show when she really liked something. At the time he could barely contain his surprise at her unrestrained enthusiasm for the plan but found himself having to, seeing as Max was sitting right there at the diner. And Max was no fool. That old fox would know that something was up from the first if he even got a whiff that things were a little off. Bones maintained that if he already thought something was up it was because Booth had been a tad too into character in the bowling alley and not, as he always argued, because she was a bad actress.

And maybe she was right. But it wouldn't be just the kiss that gave it away. He was sure that the fact that he was in love and that Bones was loving him right back, or some semblance of that, was written all over his face. Maybe a little on hers too. It was bound to become public knowledge shortly, he reasoned, so what did it matter if he went a bit overboard with his performance? Besides, she knew he'd do anything not to blow his cover.

Sooner or later Max, along with everyone else, was going to find out about them-and there was most definitely a them now. Not, he thought, that her dad would probably mind. Wasn't Max always pushing him to date his kid? What was wrong with him that he didn't want to? Was he gay? Was she not pretty enough for him? Well, he was sure dating her now, and then some. He only prayed that the old man wouldn't find out about it in the worst possible way. Like catching them in a compromising position after breaking and entering into his daughter's apartment. And he was pretty fond of doing that, Max was. Well, if such a thing happened, he would have only himself and his criminal habits to blame. That just might, just might, teach him a lesson.

So a good day then, even with the possibility of Max catching them in the act. And the highlight? Picking her up and watching her proudly wiggle her ring finger, engagement sparkler firmly in place. "It adds to the verisimilitude of our cover, don't you agree?" He tried speculating as to where she'd dug that one up and whether the Jeffersonian was in the habit of lending out that sort of thing. Maybe they didn't quite know about the loan or maybe it was something she had found along the way. But he wasn't going to ask, wasn't going to even joke about it, in case she got irritated and took it off. The truth was that it made him kind of light-headed to see it there in the first place and he let himself wonder, for a very brief moment, if she would ever be willing to wear one for real.

Too soon. Too soon to think about long-term. She didn't like that, and he wasn't about to scare her off with his enthusiasm. Sweets would probably call it neediness or some other psycho-babble whatever term but he wasn't on a self-bashing kick at the moment so he let it go. Back to the fun part then. If anything had even remotely spoiled his mood today it was having to arrest that poor sap of a manager for murder. He hated it when reasonably good people got themselves into stupid, terrible situations that could have been avoided with even a little bit of self-control. He figured the guy had reacted in anger and most likely without malice, frustration building up day after day until it was finally released in the form of a motorcycle helmet connecting with an unprotected nose at full speed. A hit that would have at most left a person with a really ugly face and the need for plastic surgery but for the fact that, due to a pre-existing medical condition, it had resulted in almost instant death instead.

He sympathized. For one, it didn't seem that the victim was all that likeable, although he tried hard never to let that type of information cloud his view of a crime. Mainly though, he could relate because he had his own anger management issues. God knows-things could have turned out very differently for him plenty of times but for good luck and what he liked to think of as his guardian angel watching over him. Still, the guy should have tried getting some help or at least done something to make things right after the fact. Should have thought about the victim's family and what it would do to them to wonder what had happened to him. Instead, the manager had quadrupled the magnitude of his mistake by hiding the body in the pin-setting machine. Stupid. Stupid and so very frustrating because the whole thing was a mistake and shouldn't have happened. It was his definition of tragedy, even when he knew that Bones would say it was too broad: good people doing bad things. Maybe he could get Caroline to be a little lenient with the charges because he felt sorry for the sap. That, and he was in an extra generous mood right now.

* * *

><p>Looking at the baby sleeping soundly in the arms of his exhausted father made him smile; he immediately felt his heart go wider. He loved kids, and this one in particular was going to a good home. The best of homes in fact; you didn't have to be a rocket scientist to know that Hodgins and Angela would make exceptional parents. Yes siree, one lucky baby, that little Michael. Two parents that loved him already, that loved and respected each other. That were kind and patient and giving. A child who would never know the meaning of fear, not in his own home at least and hopefully not ever.<p>

He thought of Parker, of how proud he was of the way his own son had turned out in spite of everything. He and Rebecca had done good after all, at least so far. Still, thinking about Parker's situation inevitably made him sad because he hadn't been able to give his boy the one thing that had been denied to him: a normal family, with a mom and dad that stood together through thick and thin without tearing each other up in the process. He consoled himself with the probability that Parker wouldn't even know what he was missing, but it still rankled. What he'd wanted for Parker was what he had seen his grandparents and a lot of his friends have. He wasn't exactly sure what it was or how to get it, although he recognized it instantly when he saw it, like he did when he watched Angela and Hodgins together. But Rebecca had Captain Fantastic now and they seemed to be pretty solid. Maybe witnessing that would be enough for Parker. And maybe…

He found his own thoughts wandering dangerously into the future, a future where he and Bones and Parker were doing things together, him and Bones providing their own example of what a happy family could be like. Parker was already fond of Bones; it would probably be the most natural thing in the world for him to accept them as a couple. And she had a pool.

Images of what might be came to a screeching halt. He wouldn't do that to himself or to her. Wouldn't visualize something for them that was guaranteed not to align with whatever came next. Too many expectations, he had learned, robbed the future of its own particular magic. This was definitely the time, he decided, to live in the now without getting so far ahead of himself that he ended up leaving those he cared about far behind. It happened before; with Rebecca, with Cam, with Hannah. He pushed, tried to mold what they had into what he thought was perfect. The result? They had all balked and turned away, overwhelmed by the oppressive weight of his dreams. He wouldn't do that to Bones. Besides Parker, she was the most important person in his life and he wasn't going to blow it. Not again. And absolutely not with her. He just needed to keep reminding himself not to build a box around those he loved and things would be okay.

She gave him a lingering glance and a little smile before heading down the hall to see Angela. God, she was so beautiful, and he loved her. He couldn't help himself. He'd been holding back for so long, hoping that one day she would catch up…and thinking it might never happen. Once he got the green light to open his heart it had been the beginning of an emotional tidal wave that couldn't be sent rolling back. Just be careful, Seeley, not to crush her with the force of all those feelings. Earlier today he'd already sensed that she might just be starting to get annoyed with him. Maybe it was the kiss in the bowling alley, after all. Once they got back to her apartment to clean up she'd become very quiet, and frankly, it was starting to make him nervous. But maybe it had nothing to do with him; it could just be concern over the upcoming birth and the baby's eyesight. He was going with that for now, because it had been a good day and he wasn't going to ruin it by obsessing.

* * *

><p>Visiting hours were over and Angela and Hodgins were left to manage sleep as best they could. He had missed that part with Rebecca, being unceremoniously hauled off from the hospital to the brig after going AWOL in order to see the birth of his son. Not that Rebecca had even wanted him around long-term anyway. Outside, the night was cool and pleasant as he and Bones strolled side by side in silence. Cam was walking a bit ahead of them so they were cautious not to seem too cozy, in case she saw. He was very fond of Cam; she was one of his best friends. But sometimes she also had kind of a big mouth and he wasn't about to test just how much she could be trusted with this sort of information. They would tell when they were good and ready. Although right about now he was really starting to worry about his partner's unusually quiet state and would've gladly welcomed the reassurance of her fingers closing around his, even at the risk of being caught. "<em>Just let me know we're okay, Bones.<em>" His brain was screaming at him to check things out, but he opted for giving her some room instead, hearing as he often did his grandfather's voice in the background. _Patience, Shrimp, patience._

The dread wouldn't go away. Something was bothering her, and he truly hoped it had nothing to do with them. All his fears reignited into a raging wildfire when she came to a sudden stop in the middle of the sidewalk and faced him with anxious eyes. This was it. Steeling himself against the hundreds of possibilities rearing their ugly heads in his mind, against the pain that was surely coming, he found himself praying for some extra time. But what she revealed was what he could have least expected.

Honestly, at first he couldn't even process the information; he thought she'd been worrying about something else entirely. He was utterly wrong. He heard her words, but wasn't quite able to wrap his mind around them. Pregnant. She was pregnant. He was the father. And then it finally clicked, and he started grinning like a fool. He was the father. Hell yeah; if there was anything he was sure about in this whole wide world it was that he absolutely would be the father of any kid she was carrying. It made him laugh to hear her even feel the need to spell it out for him. So like Bones; always clarifying, specifying, sometimes right into absurdity.

His Bones. His baby.

She had delivered the news with visible fear; doubt clearly written on her face as to his possible response. But he was overjoyed, ecstatic. How could he not be? They had made a life together, a life that promised to reaffirm what they already had. He was sure that his reaction to the news could not possibly be misinterpreted and was glad to see that she seemed instantly relieved by it. Wow.

"You're pregnant? We're having a baby?" No longer bothering to check for witnesses, he stepped closer and impulsively swallowed her up in his arms. To hell if anyone saw-it really wasn't a consideration at the moment. He was kissing the top of her head, cradling her against his chest, and she quietly accepted his embrace. But with her next question, it became apparent that she wasn't entirely comfortable with this new twist to their relationship.

"You're not upset?" She stepped back a little, her eyes fighting to find some truth in his. He struggled to decipher what she was feeling at that moment, but he just couldn't read her, so he ended up resorting to reassurance.

"Upset, why would I be upset Bones? I love you; we're together now and we're having a baby. It's the best kind of news. I could never be upset over that." He found out that this wasn't enough.

"But we didn't plan for this. It's…unexpected."

"So what? Unexpected can be good, right? Bones, are _you_ upset about this?"

It wasn't a question he wanted to ask because her answer might be too painful to hear, but avoidance was not an option. Looking away, she pressed on. "I'm not sure. I guess it's just the element of surprise involved, that's all." There was a small pause.

"Booth, we only had unprotected sex one time. The odds seemed very small then. That morning…you didn't know I wasn't on birth control; I did. And now we have to deal with the consequences of that omission."

* * *

><p>No way in hell was he going to let her go there. "Well, I didn't exactly ask at the time, did I? Look Bones, that night-it was the end of a very long day; we had other stuff on our minds. We were exhausted, on edge. I think we can both be forgiven for the oversight."<p>

She shook her head, blindly going on with her argument.

"I should have known the odds were higher than what I initially calculated; I should have at least done something about it afterwards while I still had the chance."

No. No way. "Don't say that, ok? We talked about it right after Vincent's memorial and we both agreed, together, that we weren't too worried about the chances. So, we miscalculated. It happens. And for the record, I'm glad you didn't do something about it. This baby isn't the result of a mistake. It's a miracle."

The specifics of that conversation from weeks ago came vividly to mind. She had brought up the possibility of purchasing Plan B pills as back-up, a discussion prompted by their failure to use any birth control that morning. He remembered both of them ultimately dismissing the odds of a pregnancy as slim before happily proceeding on to things that had much more certain and immediate results. Maybe the truth for him was that he hadn't really minded that particular outcome for them; maybe deep down, he hoped, she hadn't either.

"Still, I'm sorry Booth. Not for what happened. It's just that maybe I should have gone ahead and… "

"Hey, don't. Don't. You didn't make this baby alone-it was 50/50. And there's nothing to be sorry about. A baby's a great thing, I already told you that. And you wanted one before, right? With me?" He gently brushed her hair out of her face with his fingers. "So we just went ahead and did it the old-fashioned way."

An errant tear began to slide down her cheek, and she quickly swept it away with the back of her hand, trying to avoid his eyes.

"I'm just not sure. Events are moving so fast and I find myself fearing what's next. All the changes. There's so much to process; since Vincent died I can't seem to make sense of things anymore and it scares me, Booth. It's as if I have very little control left over my life; a baby doesn't help."

Holding her at arm's length now, he stopped to really look at the woman in front of him, the woman who suddenly seemed so uncharacteristically fragile and lost. He wanted, needed her to be happy with this but knowing that she operated on reason and not faith, he tried going about it in a different way.

"Bones, we're together in this, like we always are. Always. It's going to be okay, I promise. And I'm going to be here for you the whole time. We can do this. It's just going to require" he was searching for the right word "a little adapting. We can adapt right? We've done it before-we're practically pros now. Just think of it as evolution. Good evolution. Things have to change-remember? You're always telling me that. And this kind of change-it's the best kind."

She was smiling a little now at his shaky attempt to find terms that she would recognize, and he finally let out the breath that had been stuck deep in his lungs when she had seemed so uncertain.

"There's no such thing as good evolution Booth. Evolution has no inherent value. Although I guess you're right; we have gotten quite good at both adapting and evolving. I suppose we've had a lot of practice lately." She looked up at him. "So what do we do next?"

What do we do next-his mind went to a very similar question, asked at a different time and place, and under radically different circumstances. Thank God that he had a better answer to give her this time.

"What's next is that I take you home, I make you dinner, I rub your feet and then we go to sleep right after so you can get your rest. You had a long day."

And here it came, the exasperation that told him things were back to semi-normal.

"Booth, being pregnant doesn't make me an invalid. I don't want you to start hovering over me, like Hodgins did with Angela. It can be very annoying. I've seen how overly-solicitous you can be when you put your mind to it and frankly I don't think I can take too much of that. Not over seven months of it. I've always been perfectly capable of taking care of myself, and I don't intend to stop now."

Yup, back in perfect form.

"Just let me do this for you tonight, alright Bones? It's a guy thing. An anthropological alpha-male thing."

He was giving her the most shameless of his smiles now, the one she always objected to because it was supposedly so underhanded and sneaky. But he was taking no prisoners and as a result found that victory was short and sweet. She gave up. It only took her a second to think about and dismiss possible alternatives to the evening before coming easily to his side. He pulled her close as they walked together towards his car, deciding against getting too cocky with this temporary success. He knew from experience that the winner of this round would very likely be flat on his back tomorrow.

* * *

><p>Later, much later, after he had made her dinner and they had discussed who they were going to tell what and when, after feeling reasonably certain that she would be okay, he heard her voice drifting to him across what seemed like miles.<p>

"Booth?" She touched his chest lightly. "Booth?"

Every reflex went into an immediate state of alert.

"Huh? Is anything wrong Bones? Are you ok?" He shook his head in a futile attempt to clear his mind.

"Nothing's wrong Booth. I just wanted to ask you something."

"At three-thirty in the morning?" His body fell back into bed.

"It's just… you said you were happy about the baby."

That got his attention, and he tried focusing once again. "Yeah, of course I'm happy. I meant that."

"But it's, it's too soon Booth. Doesn't it seem too soon to you too? We just started a relationship. We've barely had any time together, not without all of these added responsibilities."

He relaxed, feeling pretty certain he could tackle this one too.

"Bones;" he was smiling in the darkness as he pulled her to his chest. "Hey, you're an anthropologist-you tell me. What's dating for?"

After a brief silence, he heard her voice.

"The purpose of dating" she answered clinically, "is to allow couples to find common ground by providing access to shared experiences. I suppose it encourages them to get to know each other and to find elements that can solidify their union."

"So, don't you think we've already kind of gotten most of that out of the way? I mean, after seven years we know each other pretty well, and we have lots of things in common. More than we give ourselves credit for. What we're doing now is extra, just for fun, and it doesn't have to stop just because you're pregnant. Although maybe we should slow down our pace a little," he added as an afterthought.

When there was no answer he tried using a different strategy.

"Look, I've loved you forever. I can't even remember when it started. It's not too soon for me. Not for me. I love you."

"You said that earlier today."

"I've said that a lot to you before Bones, not just today."

"Yes, but usually you've used those words while we're in the process of making love-honestly, how had he ever convinced her to use that phrase-or now…when you're referring to the pregnancy. I'm unsure as to what exactly they signify."

The meaning of what she was saying hit him right in the middle of the chest with the force of a 100 mile-per-hour baseball, and he was shocked into temporary silence. Did she honestly think his expressions of affection had so little value? That they were cheap pick-up lines, or words said out of obligation? It made a surge of anger, hot and bitter, rise up into his throat. How could she possibly think such a thing? If he hadn't used those damned words more often it was only because he didn't want to drown her with them or worse; didn't want to paint her into a corner where she might feel forced to voice a similar sentiment that she might not share. It wasn't what he wanted from her. Ever.

His reaction was immediate. After turning the bedside lamp on in a flash, he propped himself up on his elbow and glared at her. He was furious.

"Let me get this straight. You really believe that when I tell you I love you I'm doing it just to get laid, or because I knocked you up? Is that what you think of me?"

The intentional crudeness of his phrasing was meant to sting and he was happy with its effect until he stopped to see that this really wasn't about him at all, but about her own insecurities. Wide blue eyes, glassy with unshed tears, were looking at him with absolute apprehension and it instantly made his heart ache for her. Taking a slow, deep breath he forced his voice to soften.

"Ok, I want you to look at me and to listen to what I'm going to say. Really listen. Did I wake you up just now?"

Uncertainty was replaced by a hint of puzzlement. "No. I think it's fairly apparent that I woke you up."

"And am I currently trying to get you to have sex with me?"

She was thinking about it. "I don't believe so."

"Alright then; I love you." He purposely drew each word out. "No expectation of sex; no ulterior motive here. None. And the baby, it makes no difference to me. I love you with it, just like I loved you without it. Like I'm always going to love you."

She was about to about to interrupt but he stopped her by placing a finger on her lips.

"And don't argue with me that I can't know that, because I do. Am I making myself clear, or do I need to put it in a different way that makes more sense to you?"

She didn't answer.

"Bones, do you trust me?"

His voice had become a whisper as his thumb began stroking her cheekbone lightly. She continued her study of his face, trying to get something else from his expression, something she must have found because after a short while she smiled and nodded.

"I trust you Booth." Her voice was calm and sure now and he exhaled, relieved that this particular crisis appeared to be over, at least for now.

"Good, because it's still three thirty" he glanced at the clock "-make that three forty-five in the morning-and I still have to get up at six, and I don't want to keep talking."

He seriously hoped this would be it for now; he was running out of the ability to reassure. Twisting around to address the issue of the shining lamp, he felt her hand grasp his hip provocatively and yank his body closer to hers.

"Bones…? Wait a minute; now who's starting stuff? Just for the record I'm not responsible for this one. I don't need you misinterpreting my words again."

She wasn't listening.

"So you love me?" Any real concern was now replaced by what he perceived to be blatant flirtation.

"Bones, I told you…"

But she was definitely teasing this time and he knew she had him when her hand slid under the elastic of his shorts to oh so softly caress his behind. He gave up reasoning with her; he could never win on that front.

"Yeah, I do." Struggling to find his voice as her fingers kneaded expertly into the flesh of his backside, he asked in a low voice "do you want me to prove it to you?"

"If you're not too sleepy…"

* * *

><p>Sleep be damned; instead, he took an exquisitely long time trying to demonstrate the exact nature of his feelings for her-that they weren't just about instant gratification and flesh, but about heart and spirit and long-haul as well. While they were still joined, her body pressed firmly into the mattress under his, he heard her whisper a simple "I love you Booth" against his shoulder. Holding himself still, he absorbed the extraordinary fact that she had finally uttered those three little words that always seemed to come so easily to him. She didn't need to use them; he'd grown resigned to the fact that she never might because in her world they could be mistaken for a sign of weakness. And he was okay with that, because really, he understood that she cared for him even if she wasn't able to express it in the standard way. But in hearing them, he couldn't believe the power they had precisely because they'd been hard to say; because she possessed a crystal-clear honesty that made her incapable of using them lightly. What Bones had just said really meant something. It meant that she was in the process of accepting the seeming permanence of what they had, that she was allowing herself to be completely vulnerable to him. Those words were the absolute proof, if he needed anything more, of her unwavering trust in him and he swore once again that he would never let her down, not as long as he lived.<p>

He didn't say anything right away, knowing she would feel self-conscious with any direct reply. _Don't make a huge deal out of it._ _Don't make her uncomfortable_. So he kissed her forehead, slowly making his way down the side of her face to her earlobe. When he was done, he buried his face into the crook of her neck and after one more gentle bump of his hips into her yielding body, he tilted his head and chuckled huskily into her ear. "I bet you do…" She must have liked his answer, because she laughed too and held onto him tighter. Definitely the best twenty-four hours of his life.


	3. Nightmares

Seconds ticked by loudly on Booth's old wall-mounted clock, a noise that seemed to be getting stronger with every passing quarter hour. For a minute, she experienced the entirely irrational thought that morning would never come. That the world had stopped turning and she would be left forever in darkness. First 12:00, 12:50, 1:30; on and on it had continued until it was now 2:45 with sleep stubbornly refusing to make an appearance and little hope of its arrival anytime soon.

Really, the darkness in her partner's apartment was not all that oppressive. Despite the drawn shades, rays of light from streetlamps below were still making their way into his living room, throwing objects into strange perspective and allowing her eyes the opportunity to explore. She had been in his apartment dozens if not hundreds of times, but never at this time and under such circumstances. Items that had been glossed over before were brought into sharp prominence and she let her mind observe them without judgment, hoping that sleep would catch her on her purposeless journey.

3:00 am. She was glad for the light, subdued as it was. Dr. Temperance Brennan would never have admitted that she was afraid of the dark, not as an adult. It seemed like such a childish fear, one that should have been long left behind. And she had; no longer needing even an inconspicuous night-light in her room, she slept quite well on most nights. It had been a hard-earned accomplishment. Not so with closet doors left ajar; these were always carefully closed even if it meant having to get up from soft, warm sheets into the surrounding cold air to perform the task. Even when her bare feet would pay the price from the icy floors. It was a ritual rooted in a different, far-away life. And this was the first memory to surface; because it seemed fairly innocuous, she let herself to take just a peek in order to pass the time.

Seven, she was sure she had been seven. An ordinary night where her mother had tucked her in and said goodnight with a kiss. Ordinary but for the fact that at some point, she had woken up in complete darkness within a space so confined she found she could barely move her legs. Disoriented, she tried summoning her burgeoning powers of reason to figure out what had happened but seconds slipped by and all she knew was that she was no longer in the safety of her bed but somewhere dark and muffled instead. She was trapped.

This was when she had first encountered that mystifying sensation: panic. A fear so deep that no thought could banish or control it. Crying now and with the sound of blood thumping wildly in her ears, her fingers felt around her to find objects both alien and vaguely familiar-books, shoes and what could have been clothes. But no exit, and no light.

"Mom, mom!" She was calling, screaming, hoping that someone would hear her, that something that was not her mother wouldn't answer her plea. She was sure there were things in there with her-monsters, terrible and shapeless.

"Tempe, honey, your mom's asleep. Where are you?"

"Daddy, help me!"

A door was opened and an overhead light hit her eyes. She was weeping almost hysterically now, reaching out to Max.

"Honey, you must have slept-walked into your closet. It's okay, sweetheart. See, it's just your closet; everything's fine now. Daddy's right here. Let's put you back to bed. Hey, what if I read you a story until you calm down a little?"

Her reaction that night had embarrassed her the following day; Russ teased her over it and she felt it was his revenge because she was so much smarter than he was. Even though he was four years older, she could already read books that were at his level, solve math problems that were too difficult for him and beat him at just every board game they played. So Russ had called her a baby to get even, and she decide from that moment on never to take anything at face value or to lose control that way again.

She would watch and listen and she would never be scared by make-believe things in the future. Weren't her mom and dad always telling her that you could solve any puzzle if you put your mind to it? She hadn't been trapped in a horrible cave and there had been no monsters there; only a perfectly run-of-the-mill closet filled with childhood items. This had been an important lesson; once you used your smarts, scary things went away, just like when her dad had turned on the light. There were no such things as monsters, no magic, no fairies. Just common, everyday things and occurrences that could be explained away with a little bit of effort.

But just in case, and because despite a lifetime of self-discipline she had been unable to banish every last irrational thought, the closet door had been duly shut ever since.

3:30 am. That harmless little memory brought scarier friends along. Closing her eyes, she once again tried finding sleep, knowing she would be of little use at the lab tomorrow without it. But the ticking clock whisked her away to what appeared to be the inside of a car, the smell of blood filling her nostrils with its sharp metallic tang. No longer seven, she managed to keep her panic in check and found a light. Beyond the windshield was nothing; just a shapeless dark mass. And in the back seat? Hodgins, unconscious, and probably bleeding to death.

Clarity and control became her mantra throughout the abduction and interment because without these, there was no hope of success. Honesty required the admission that, yes, there had been moments of doubt and even despair; but secure in the knowledge that Hodgins and she were the best in their fields and that her partner would never give up on them, it had been possible to remain focused and relatively calm. Afterwards, she experienced a true feeling of pride because she and Hodgins had managed, against the odds, to find a solution to their predicament. Logic had triumphed predictably over fear, even if the bathroom light had been left on for weeks after the ordeal was over.

4:00 am. Too late, too late she understood what was happening. She had let her guard down and an awful genie had been released. Her blood was literally running cold as a torrent of secret, grisly images made its way into her conscious mind, now rendered useless by exhaustion. Her personal Pandora's box, filled to the brim with a veritable treasure trove of horrors and impossible now to shut back up because the receptacle itself had been shattered by the same bullet that had severed Mr. Nigel-Murray's aorta.

A box she used to open only to put more terrible things into, after which it was diligently shoved far back into the most inaccessible recesses of her brain. It had all been carefully kept and catalogued inside-every victim, every crime; the women, the young girls, the children, the denizens of countless mass graves, their hands tied behind their backs and their meager possessions scattered in the soil. Skulls, bones, flesh, blood. And Booth, drowning in one corner, being shot through the heart in another.

But the broken box was saving one special item for her, one she had only revisited once recently in an attempt to help a friend. Sixteen; she was sixteen now, at yet another foster home. Her foster parents-the word parent had never so been misused-made it clear from the start she wasn't welcome, only the cherished income that came with her through the state. The chores were endless. Imaginary delays were accompanied by harsh words, lack of food and imprisonment in her room, even when there was school to attend. Such awful, petty-minded people who never ceased calling her strange and crazy, telling her it was no wonder that her parents and her brother had left.

The particular task on a warm November afternoon? Washing and putting away the dishes sitting at the bottom of a filthy sink. Water was quickly rising to the top, water so hot that steam was now clinging to the window above. Too hot; the water was scalding but it didn't matter. She had been forced to reach in regardless and retrieve a plate even as she winced from the heat. The soapy plate had slipped from her burning hands and crashed next to her feet, scattering into a hundred shards on the sticky kitchen floor.

Lying on Booth's sofa, she covered her ears in a desperate attempt to keep out the shrill voice of her foster mom, screaming that she was useless, clumsy, and that she had broken one of her best plates. The punishment for the terrible offense? Being walked outside by the woman and her husband and forced to get into the trunk of their car. "You stay in there and think about all the trouble you are. I don't want you anywhere near our stuff for a good long while. You think you're so smart, how come you can't even do the dishes right? You're worthless." She hadn't been too afraid then, merely mortified. One day, she thought, she would do everything in her power to learn to protect herself and then she'd never become a victim again.

But for now the car was hot from being in the sun and she found she had difficulty breathing. Moving some items around, she discovered several holes at the bottom of the trunk and pushed some of the rust through with her fingers in order to give her more access to air. How long would this go on? Surely they wouldn't keep her in here the rest of the day. But minutes became hours and as every muscle began to cramp, she noticed that the heat had begun to dissipate along with daylight. It was raining now-she could hear the soft plinking sound of raindrops, accompanied by the occasional slap of wet leaves hitting the body of the car. It was cold, and hunger was beginning to gnaw at her insides.

The final humiliation though, was yet to come. She needed to go to the bathroom, had needed to go for a while, and felt she couldn't hold it anymore. It was clearly late now; they weren't coming to get her. So she had relieved herself, soaking her pants in the process. What would her classmates say now? Look at that weird, pathetic Brennan girl, wetting herself like a little kid. The teasing would be endless if if they ever found out.

After all she had already gone through in her life, this was the one moment when she finally felt herself breaking. Together they had broken her: her parents, her brother, the foster homes, her peers, and she didn't know if she could ever be put back together again in just the right way. Temperance Brennan might survive the night, but things would change irrevocably after this. They had to, if her psyche had any chance of staying intact. The last remaining vestiges of childhood innocence had been ripped away from her today and she wept frantically, understanding the gravity of that loss.

Some part of her rational mind was still working, telling her that crying would only speed up dehydration, but the voice was faint and the tears continued to fall. What if they never came for her, what if they simply dumped the old car off in some ravine and she died alone and unmissed? An almost cliched fate for the orphan who had no one to fight on her behalf, to seek her out, to mourn for her after she was gone. No one; absolutely no one would care if she died today.

They came back the next day and at least spared her comments about the state of the trunk or the smell on her clothes. Maybe they were afraid that somehow they had gone too far, that trouble with the authorities would follow, or maybe someone had heard something and called. Whatever the case, she had not lasted there much longer. After a few weeks of being almost completely ignored by her foster parents, she had been shipped off to another home with people who were at least less prone to psychotic behavior.

Sobbing. She was sobbing uncontrollably into the pillow that Booth had given her; heaving as she tried to gasp for air. Sobbing with the same intensity as she had in the trunk of that car when her prospects had appeared so dim. And feeling like she might just throw up as the final specter of the night made its appearance alongside the others.

Poor Mr. Nigel-Murray, his blood seeping effortlessly through Booth's hands and making what eerily looked like a halo around his prone body. Vincent, who was young and silly and easy to dismiss. Who had often irritated her with his non-sequitors and his endless love of trivia. Poor Vincent, who had died asking her not to send him away, not to make him leave the lab. How could he have reached that conclusion? She had never said anything to indicate that she thought him inadequate to the task or that she had any intention of replacing him. So if it hadn't been her words, then maybe it was something in her demeanor. Something about the way she presented herself that made her unapproachable and intimidating.

Why hadn't he ever asked her how she felt about him, about the work he was doing? She could have told him that he was doing fine and then he wouldn't have been worried. But it wasn't his problem-it was hers, or specifically, her that was the problem. Booth had often said that he wanted others to see her like he did, that maybe she should soften her image a little so that her appearance could match what he thought he could see in her heart. She hadn't done it, not enough, and now she would forever pay for that omission with the memory of Vincent's pleading eyes. It was a vision that would never fit into that little secret box of hers assuming she could even find a way to put it back together again.

Did she truly come across as that unfeeling, as that rigid? Just like those awful foster parents? Had she really made those final moments of his life that much more painful by the way she had unwittingly treated him? His last, terrified thoughts had been about her and she could no longer continue to dismiss the fact that regardless of intent, her actions impacted others around her in countless ways and she was entirely responsible for their consequences.

The impulse towards flight, a feeling she was well acquainted with, began to grow and get stronger as her thoughts pressed down on her chest with the weight of shovelfuls of earth. _Run; run into the streets below, far away from everything. Wear yourself out until your legs give way and your lungs burn. Until your mind shuts down and you can no longer feel anything._ But run to where? The only person who had ever managed to comfort her since the loss of her parents was sleeping not twenty feet away from where she stood. All she had to do was cross the threshold of his bedroom and he would be there, almost certainly willing to help her.

She wouldn't do it. He needed his sleep for tomorrow, for when he had to go on the hunt. But Booth had asked her to stay for a reason, a reason that seemed to have little to do with her actual physical safety, given the fact that their enemy could ostensibly see through walls. So maybe it was meant to serve an entirely different purpose, perhaps because he knew that something like this could happen and he didn't want her to be alone. It would be just like Booth to worry about her when it was his life on the line. Still, he needed his strength. Taking Broadsky down would require lightning-fast reflexes and deep concentration; skills that depended in great part on rest.

4:40 am. She thought of the phone, of how easily it could have been Booth holding it, of how easily it could have been Booth lying in the morgue of the Jeffersonian. It was terrible, horrible to admit that she was glad he was the one still alive. She grieved for Vincent and his family but Booth was her partner, her best friend; the man she had finally accepted she wanted, needed in her life under whatever guise he chose to be in it. Anything that he was willing to be for her she would take as long as he remained safe and at her side-even if it was only as a friend. And yet after today, there was the real possibility that she would never see him again. What if he found her asleep and didn't wake her before he left? If he didn't say goodbye?

This was the turning point-the moment when she finally accepted that she didn't want to be on her own anymore. A decision was made and she allowed her shaky fingers to turn the knob of his door, compelled by a need that was as irrational as it was overwhelming.


	4. 4:47

Christ, was he really pointing a gun at his partner? Was he really this close to pulling the trigger? Even after she reassured him that there was nothing wrong, his mind and his body were geared for combat and the cocked gun remained perfectly steady in his outstretched hand. Still in a daze, he mechanically asked her if she wanted him to put it down-of course she did-he had terrified her. He forced himself to calm down and tried clearing his head; nothing was wrong. Nothing-and everything. Vincent's death came back to him in a shower of broken glass and he remembered exactly why he had asked his partner to stay. In horrific slow motion, he saw the dark red liquid flowing inexorably between his fingers as the glazed eyes began to go further and further away.

He knew how she was, how sometimes the effects of something traumatic were long in surfacing with her. He had wanted Bones with him in case she needed him. He was also way past the point of denying that he felt an almost uncontrollable urge to keep her safe always, but especially tonight. Hell, if he'd been able to have her with him in his bedroom he would have done it. Maybe somewhere in the past, before Hannah, before Bones had said no, it would have been possible. But now? They were in some kind of no-man's land where every step was fraught with danger. Too much, too little. Impossible to know which was which, so he opted to keep her as close as possible without insisting on anything more.

Her eyes looked haunted as she came closer to his bed; even by the dim light of his bedside lamp he could see she'd been crying, maybe for most of the night. About Vincent, it had to be. Such an awful image to carry and one he wished he could make disappear for both of them.

"Vincent was talking to me Booth."

The broken voice was holding words full of recrimination and he tried making sense of what she was saying. She was tired, on edge; maybe she'd had a nightmare before coming to look for him. There was more than enough material for those tonight. But as she continued talking, the meaning of her words became clear-it was a confession. He knew, being intimately acquainted with those himself from moments spent in the silence of a darkened church, waiting for a sympathetic ear to grant some semblance of absolution. A search for outside forgiveness because you couldn't possibly hope to find any inside yourself. He'd made one for every life he took, and for some other lesser sins as well. Sometimes, when you couldn't take your actions back, it was the only thing left. The moment when you're being eaten from your insides out and only telling another can relieve the pressure. She thought Vincent was talking about her; that she was somehow responsible for the suffering in the very last minutes of his life.

_Bones, it's not about you; it was never about you._

He took a deep breath as he held her hand and found himself offering the only explanation that made any sense. She couldn't know, not like he did. Yes, his partner was used to dealing with death, but he dealt with killing and its immediate aftermath. Seeing it as many times as he had, having witnessed it so closely, he knew that when it came it made all external factors very small. When people were dying, going someplace where the living couldn't follow, their eyes turned to distant, secret things that those left behind couldn't see. A transcendental moment when the material world ceased having any meaning, and the same look he had seen on Vincent's eyes just before his heart had beat out for the last time.

In attempting to calm her, though, he immediately felt the sting of mild hypocrisy inherent in his own reassuring words. He was telling her there was no reason to feel guilty, but of course there was. There always would be whenever circumstances gave you cause to second-guess your role in a tragedy. Guilt-it was part and parcel of being the one left alive. Just as he was feeling his own strident pang of remorse about Vincent: the phone. The damn phone; a phone he should have answered because that call had been meant for him and not for some innocent intern who had his entire life ahead of him. And Broadsky-if he'd only taken him down in that field…how many lives had that decision cost?

No. He wouldn't go there, not right now, not while she was the one needing comfort. Bones had come to him tonight, and he would keep himself together and do whatever he had to do to help her get by even with the meager means at his disposal. It was already a given that he couldn't ever come up with the answers she wanted to hear because there just weren't any to give. Instead, he tried quietly explaining that this had nothing to do with anything she'd done; that it was all between Vincent and something else, something larger that they couldn't possibly understand. Vincent wasn't ready and life wasn't fair, at least not in a way that made any sense to the survivors.

She stared back at him in disbelief, clearly unwilling to accept his accounting of things. Blinded by grief and despair she was caught in a loop, unable to find her way out of uncertainty and back into the world of logic where she felt safe. And how could she? Nothing could ever make sense after yesterday's utterly pointless events.

_Bones, Bones, I wish I could make you could understand._

It ripped him apart to see his partner like this. So what was left when it was obvious that words were simply not enough, when under the circumstances nothing could possibly sound reasonable? Would offering anything else be misconstrued? Lately he had found that every action, every gesture involving her came under intense scrutiny in his mind because things were so vastly different between them now. It was a strange situation, and one which he still hadn't gotten used to. He would have known what to do before; but now, paralyzed by indecision, he was left to wonder just exactly when it was that he'd lost his way with her.

He was still holding her hand but her eyes, full of sorrow and regret, were pleading for more even as he understood that she couldn't bring herself to ask. And in the end, regardless of the tenuous nature of their relationship, he let instinct take over. Except for something in their recent past which had filled him with endless regret, he'd never once in his life been able to deny his partner anything-even with the possibility of deep hurt for him or both of them as the logical outcome. He gave in and pulled her close, sinking back on the pillow as she wept into his shirt.

Holding her like this, her heart vibrating softly against his ribcage, brought everything back in a rush of feeling. All those emotions he'd carefully muted in himself a long time ago out of deference to their partnership; his affection, his respect for her, how in awe he was of her and had been since their very first meeting. And without regard for how reckless it was, he let himself acknowledge what he'd carefully trained his heart to ignore: _you love her. You've always loved her. _No matter what fate had done to them, what they had done to each other, she was still his in a way that went beyond mere entitlement. She would always be his-it just wasn't possible for him to let go, and for once he was okay with that admission. He would always be there for her, in one way or another, even if it had to be from a distance. Even if he couldn't be a part of her life the way he wanted to be.

He let his hand caress her arm in a calming motion. "That's why I'm here Bones. I'm right here."

The words were soft, repetitive as they were whispered into her hair and he wasn't sure he was making sense anymore. He knew that ultimately what you heard didn't matter, as long as you didn't feel alone. It was something he'd learned from years of watching his own hurts gently swept away by his mother, and when she was no longer there, by Pops. They had given him this legacy. It was a gift he had used often with his own son, and now, with his heartbroken partner.

In soothing her, he was surprised to find his own measure of quiet. And as they lay on his bed, bound together by grief, the most unexpected of things happened. He was suddenly overcome with an almost unnatural sense of calm; a sense of tranquility so encompassing that it made years of pent-up rage, even the violent hatred he felt towards Broadsky, dissipate in an instant. Because regardless of so many insistent denials, Sweets was right about him. He was the owner of a deep well filled with anger; a black abyss which he had forced himself not to look into, just in case. Control and discipline; these were things that he'd become good at out of necessity, but sometimes…

He felt his lifetime of scars every day, most invisible to those who didn't know him well. He made damn well sure they stayed that way. They were a constant source of shame, glaring marks of weakness and an inability to put up a good fight. The source of so many shocking emotions barely held in check. All that anger. At his dad, at Rebecca, at Jared, at Hannah-even at Bones. But mostly, he admitted, anger at himself for all of the times he'd failed the people in his life, for the times he hadn't measured up, for the fact that something was wrong and he just never seemed to be enough for those he loved.

Such an unlikely miracle then, to be given the gift of peace and perfect clarity in the middle of this storm. But it had happened, as he lay quietly on his bed with his partner curled up against him. The miracle of contentment, of a simple acceptance of the way things had gone before and were meant to unfold in the future. In the mundane setting of his room, of all places, and after the horror that had been the day before he had finally found a way out of the dark. He felt touched by unasked for grace, boundless, pure, and for that he found himself silently thanking God.

Her breathing slowed and evened-she was asleep now. He was sure and he tightened his hold on her, already mourning the fact that he and Bones might never be this close again. So much and so little space between them; it was always like that, since the beginning. It didn't matter anymore.

He turned and tenderly kissed the top of her head, letting his lips linger on her hair, breathing in the faint scent of her shampoo, feeling every beat of her heart. He found he could be satisfied with only this, that the simple act of loving her would finally be enough without the expectation of anything in return. On some level he also knew that he was finally agreeing to let her go; he wouldn't try to stop her if after yesterday's events she felt the need to leave him and their work behind. It was a distinct possibility-just as he found unaccountable safety in staying put and taking any abuse that came his way, she found her solace in flight. It was the way they were and he wasn't sure they could ever change that about themselves. So maybe all he had left with her was now, and all their history came down to this one single moment.

His lips still buried in her hair, he felt his partner sigh deeply. She tipped her head up to look at him with serene blue eyes, her whole being seemingly touched now by the same preternatural calm that he was experiencing. It was all so quiet; even the sound of traffic had died down in the early morning hour. Her hand began tracing a lazy pattern across his chest, with a touch so light that the feel of her palm barely registered through his shirt. Still gazing at him with the same inscrutable intensity, she allowed her hand to slide softly up to his face, not once letting her fingers lose contact with his skin. He became utterly still, sure that any minute she'd pull her hand back, that she'd realize what she was doing.

But there wasn't any trace of uncertainty in her unequivocal smile and he was completely rapt, mesmerized. Her fingers were stroking his cheek, the shell of his ear, the hair at his temple. with a touch was gentle but firm as her thumb struck a path across his lower lip. She brought her face nearer to his and he finally met his lips to hers in a whisper of a kiss that was soon followed by others; tentative, soft-and then deeper, more intense. Slow kisses which began merging into one another to become the real thing. More and more pressure, and an all-consuming need. Holding, caressing, teeth nipping at lips until their tongues met in an urgent, open-mouthed kiss.

The hand at the back of his head was pulling him closer, drawing him further into her mouth and he responded in kind. It wasn't enough; nothing was enough as he shifted his position, their mouths still attached. She was tugging on his neck, urging him on top until finally his body had imprisoned her underneath his. He was going crazy; they were both losing their minds. He didn't care anymore as he sought out the delicate, warm skin of her neck, spurred on by her quiet whimpers of pleasure.

Catching fire and burning; they were burning and every fiber of his being was alight and alive, his ability to think drifting away like windswept ash. His body was taking over. Her hands were on his skin, leaving a trail of heat along his spine when he felt his shirt being pulled up past his rib cage. The shirt came off, and in that second that they were apart and before she was able to remove her own, he suddenly regained some part of his senses.

Locking his elbows, he pushed himself up and away from her in an effort to keep some distance. "Stop Bones wait, wait." He couldn't even recognize his own voice as he struggled to regain his breath. "I think this is… maybe we should…"

She stopped him. "Are you worried about me?" she asked softly.

"Yeah." What on earth was the right thing to say? He didn't want it to sound like rejection, but it was becoming increasingly clear to him that, in spite all the times he'd wanted just this, maybe it wasn't a good idea-not tonight. "What happened yesterday…I don't want you to…" She put a finger to his lips and touched his cheek.

"I'm okay, Booth." She was looking straight into his eyes. "I want this; I want you."

She ran her fingers through his hair, a hint of a smile on her lips. "I'm sure."

God, he wanted to believe her. How much was he going to let his conscience press the issue? Was this moment destined to become yet another missed opportunity between them? She was giving him the final choice. Ultimately, he decided she was telling the truth because that's what he desperately wanted it to be. So he let thought and apprehension go and smiled back, helping her to remove the sweatshirt. She was beautiful in the shadows; more perfect than he had thought was even possible. Whether is was delusion or not, he'd give her everything she thought she wanted tonight without a thought to tomorrow because maybe this would be all that fate would allow them to have. And as their bodies came together for a time, he let himself find fulfillment and bliss in loving her.


	5. Morning

Two hours; barely two hours with her, and now he had to steel himself into leaving. The whole unfairness built into that scenario made him want to cry.

6:30 already and light was beginning to fill the room despite the closed shades. He looked at the clock again. The alarm he had set for this morning should be ringing in fifteen minutes, but it wouldn't be-a little less than an hour ago he had carefully reached over his sleeping partner and turned it off. In reality, there was absolutely no risk that he wouldn't wake up in time because there was no possibility that he would be anything but awake. They had made love and she had fallen into an exhausted coma shortly thereafter. But he wouldn't, no matter how much his body was protesting; not knowing that he might never find himself with her like this again. In fifteen minutes he'd be forced to get up and start his day, pretending that it was just like any other. It had to be, if he had any chance of getting back in one piece at the end of it.

A shower, a shave, clothes, his gun, coffee. The calming routine that was the backbone of a soldier's life. There was nothing more he wanted to do this morning than to stay in bed, watch her wake up and possibly see her smile, maybe share a little conversation before making her breakfast. Just like routine though, discipline was a necessity for survival during war; you did the things you least wanted to do in order to stay alive. Who knew if she would even agree to stay? It wasn't a given no matter how much he day-dreamed, and he was well aware of the risks he took on their behalf when he let last night's events go forward. But he had to believe she would, if he was going to make it through the day.

Broadsky-he brushed the thought away-there was plenty of time to think about him later. For now, all he cared about was Bones, sleepy and soft against him. He grinned a little; he couldn't help himself. Sometime last night she'd gotten cold and put on his shirt. He felt the ungentlemanly pride of possession inherent in seeing her in his clothes, a pretty timeless symbol of ownership. It was an unbecoming thought and certainly did more than hint at that caveman, alpha male side of him she always talked about, but he never claimed to be perfect. Bones would definitely give him grief about it though, he was sure, if she only knew how much pleasure seeing her in that old t-shirt was giving him. Maybe one day he'd tell her, if he thought he could survive the admission.

The clock neared his wake-up call and everything that had been yesterday resumed its endless replay in his head, even as he struggled to enjoy the last few moments of quiet with her. _Vincent, glass, blood, the phone._ Over and over. It should have been him. It didn't seem right that he'd finally been given what he wanted at the expense of someone else. And Bones-if the poor hapless intern hadn't been there, would Broadsky have recognized a female shape and withheld his shot, or would she have become another casualty of war, more by way of collateral damage? But they were both alive still and despite all the guilt that came with that, he was glad that he had this night with her. Amends, to the extent that they were possible, would have to come later.

What could he say about last night? That it had been amazing, that he wished they could have spent more time together? That he would carry the images and sensations with him the rest of his life, however long that turned out to be? Every sound she made, how she felt beneath him, how she held on to him and shuddered slightly before they both found the oblivion of release. Before the end came, he made a conscious effort to slow things down because he didn't want what they were about to share to be about lost hope. He had stopped for a few seconds and kissed her softly, trying to tell her. She seemed to understand and calmed a little, quieting her movements and lightening her touch. He could still feel her fingers picking out every single one of the vertebrae along his spine, caressing every rib, singling out all the tendons and muscles on his back and shoulders, forever he thought with some amusement, the enthusiastic student of anatomy. And in the newfound gentleness he felt her despair turning into something else, maybe something resembling love. It wasn't that; it was way too soon for Bones, if that feeling would ever even be meant for him. But it was close enough.

6:45 and time was up; it couldn't be helped. Agent Shaw would be waiting for him in his office and he had a job to do. He lingered a bit, wanting these last few minutes with her, wanting to experience every second in case they were the only ones he had. He was only too painfully aware that Jacob was a deadly enemy, the perfect killing machine. Skilled, patient and cursed with an endless source of purpose; no one was more dangerous than a man undertaking a mission he fervently believed in. In this terrible way they were similar, he and Broadsky, but only in this way, he prayed. At least he could tell himself his own actions were derived from orders arrived at by the many, where Jacob followed only his own agenda. Better not to dwell on the similarities today, though-they hit a little too close to home for comfort.

Giving Bones a light kiss on the forehead, he carefully disentangled himself from her. She was asleep, and he wanted her to stay that way; it would make things simpler for them. Besides, why expose her so soon to the reality that was already here for him? A day when Vincent was no longer alive and Broadsky might take his life.

He walked quietly towards the bathroom, mentally morphing into the hunter with every step. He figured his only chance against the killer was to exploit the sniper's most apparent weakness-his violent dislike of the man he viewed as his own personal roadblock: one Seeley Booth. By now Jacob had probably figured out he had killed the wrong man and this knowledge might throw him off his game just enough to serve as ammunition. Passionate people had endless drive, but they often made costly mistakes. He just had to use this in his favor, along with whatever else came from the Jeffersonian. _Remember Seeley-he's not perfect._

Booth felt his own unlikely advantage in the wake of the previous evening's events. The desire for retribution, so strong only yesterday, had been transmuted into something saner. No killing Broadsky if it could be helped-this had to be about justice and not merely revenge. It was a conscious decision, because he didn't want the memories of the night to be tainted by any more blood. The new goal brought on an added sense of calm, of control-necessary tools in his quest for a monster. If she only knew what being with her had done for him…but not now and maybe not in a long time. Where they were currently at was scary enough already.

Stepping into the shower with regret at having to wash away the last traces of her, he turned the water on as hot as he could stand it. It was the start to his every day and he needed to find his cadence. Near impossible to keep his thoughts from wandering to Bones all day long, but at least he could make the effort. Would she still want to work with him, would she go out with him? Or was this finally the end of the road for their relationship? If it was the former, it would be an extra incentive to get the job done. If the latter…maybe he didn't want that information before he left.

He turned the water off and shaved in thoughtful silence, idly wondering if she was already awake, if those inquisitive blue eyes would be searching for him. As he walked cautiously to his closet, he pointedly avoided looking in her direction just in case, unsure whether he could resist the temptation of getting back into bed with her. Half dressed, he finally gave in. She was still sleeping soundly, in the same position as he'd left her-a tangle of hair spread out over his pillow and the covers tucked carefully around her. A sharp pang of need mixed with desire, almost impossible to describe, ultimately led him to look away. It was just too much. He had to finish getting dressed, had to meet with Agent Shaw, had to catch that bastard. Right now, there wasn't really any room for anything else.

He finished dressing in the diminishing shadows of his room-he could have done it with eyes closed-and walked out to the living room. And then he took out his phone, a new one, thank God, in order to do the one thing he was dreading the most. It couldn't be put off any more. There might be no time later.

"Rebecca? It's me, Seeley."

Her tired voice came in an irritated whisper. "Seeley, it's barely 7 in the morning on a Saturday. What is it?"

"Look Rebecca, I'm really sorry, but I need to talk to Parker; it can't wait."

"Are you kidding? He's sleeping, Seeley; we all went to bed late-we just got back from Connecticut last night."

He felt himself losing patience. It took an almost superhuman effort to moderate his tone; anger wasn't going to get him what he wanted with Rebecca. It never had. "I wouldn't be bothering you if it wasn't important. It'll only be a minute. Please." Begging again; so often it seemed like the only way of getting access to his son.

There was silence and then he heard a soft intake of breath. "Oh my God, Seeley, is this about the Jeffersonian? Were you there yesterday?"

"Yeah."

"I'm so sorry-did you know that guy?"

He wouldn't go there. "Later. Rebecca please, I really want to talk to Parker."

And suddenly she knew why he was calling. It was one of the things she had hated about being with him and one of the many things he hadn't been willing to change for her. The anxiety, the worry. He could hear that she still felt something, if nothing else on Parker's behalf. They had been connected for so long, and that connection lived on in their son. She didn't press for any more details; she knew him too well.

"I'll go get him. Give me a minute, okay?"

He heard her voice once again, now tinged with anxiety. "Parker, honey, your dad's on the phone. I know you're tired, but he really needs to tell you something."

A little more cajoling, and then a sleepy child's voice came on. "Yeah dad?"

"Hey bud. I'm sorry to wake you up, but daddy has a big day today and I might not get the chance to talk to you in a while." Just saying the words hurt.

"Okay."

"Parker, I want you to know that I'm going to do everything I can to be at your game tomorrow afternoon. I know you're going to do great. I'm really proud of you, bud, always. You know that, right?"

He heard a yawn. "Uh huh, dad."

"I love you Parker, I want you to know that too. Are you listening? It's important."

"Yeah, I'm listening dad. Love you too."

"Bye Parker."

Rebecca took the phone. "You take care of yourself, okay Seeley?"

"Thanks Rebecca. Take care of Parker." The words were unnecessary, but he felt better saying them.

"Always." He could tell she was upset; it didn't seem fair that after all this time she still had to worry, not in her new life. She deserved to live without fearing every news report or phone call. And he wished for her and Parker's sake that that one fateful call wouldn't be coming today.

* * *

><p>He stood in the quiet of his living room, a debate raging on in his head. Should he wake Bones up and tell her he was leaving, or should he let her sleep and write her a note? She had brought her car, she could leave on her own later, after she slept a little more. Besides, she was so tired…and it was so easy to slip away. Doing it this way involved a minimum of awkward goodbyes and the issuance of promises that might be impossible for one or both of them to keep. In his heart he knew the note was the coward's way out, but he was also superstitious; waking her up would entail an admission that he might never see her again, like it had been with Parker. It was such a close call.<p>

_Don't do that to her,_ his conscience whispered. _Don't let her wake up alone, wondering why you left. Even if the doubt lasts only for a minute. She's been left behind before; she'll take it the wrong way. She deserves more than that._

Then another voice._ And what if she doesn't react the way you want-what then?_ His mind had no answer to that question.

"Bones." He was sitting on the edge of the bed, lightly shaking her shoulder. "I'm so sorry to have to do this."

"Booth?" Her drowsy eyes became focused and she smiled at him. On scanning his form further and seeing how he was dressed, her expression changed. She was hurt.

"You're leaving?" She had forgotten.

"Agent Shaw-she's meeting me at my office at 8:00 this morning."

All traces of emotion left her face. "Broadsky."

"I didn't want to wake you up but I needed to…" he didn't want to say it. "I needed to say goodbye-to make sure you were okay."

She took his hand off her shoulder and brought it up to her cheek, her hand pressing hard on his, looking stricken. He hesitated for a second, trying to find the courage. He had to tell her.

"I also need to say something else, in case I don't get another chance." He looked at her in earnest, willing her to believe him. "I love you."

"Booth." Her eyes filled with tears, and he had to fight to keep his own at bay.

She wanted to speak but he shook his head and smiled ruefully. "No, please. Don't say anything-not right now. Let's save something for later; maybe give me something to look forward to, yeah?" And that was the coward in him again, the one that needed breathing room for doubt.

She was looking at him intently and her accompanying silence dared him into saying the rest. "I'll see you tonight, okay." It was meant as a statement but his voice broke, making it sound more like a question instead. She couldn't fail to know what he meant by that, and he saw immediate understanding register in her eyes. To see him tonight not just as a partner, but as a man. The seconds it took for her to reply felt like the longest in his life.

Tightening her grip on his hand, she nodded. "Yes-tonight."

The words were said in utter seriousness and he knew that she meant them, at least right now. It was all he needed to hear, and he found himself smiling for real for the first time this morning.

"Please be careful."

Leaning over and gently kissing her lips in reply, he caressed her cheek with his thumb, carefully wiping away some of the tears that had quietly slipped down her face. The morning had just gotten a little brighter.

He was still smiling as he got up. "Hey, I'm the best, remember?", he said with an arrogance he didn't feel. "Together, _we're_ the best."


	6. Bones

*Several lines of dialogue between Angela and Brennan have been taken directly from "The Hole in the Heart" _Bones_ episode, and I take no credit for them.

* * *

><p>What was it? It was right there in front of her, somewhere on that spartan metal table. Something obvious, something important; she bit her lip in frustration at the patent inability to solve what should have been a simple puzzle. Frustration brought anger, and anger only brought further confusion; there seemed to be no way out of what looked to be an endless maze. She was like the proverbial rodent on a wheel-running and running, and going nowhere.<p>

So it was happening already, just like she predicted it would. What she feared the most with any type of emotional involvement-the loss of focus, of perspective, of control. And for all intents and purposes, the loss of sanity.

On any other given day the murkiness in her mind would be nothing more than an irritating inconvenience, but today, with her partner's life hanging in the balance, it took on the form of an unforgivable affliction. The irony was that all she needed was right here, in the collection of methodically cleaned and arranged bones that had once been Matt Leishenger. Right here-so why couldn't she see it?

Why indeed; she knew perfectly well why. _Go back to your time in Booth's bed, Dr. Brennan, and do the math..._

Booth moving over her, kissing her, his rough, masculine hands deft and sure on her bare skin. His voice husky, a growl of need whispered just below the ear, soft grunts, a gasp for air and finally his name for her, barely audible, as his hold on her body involuntarily tightened during release. And in the coldness of the lab she felt yet another jolt of electric heat running through her, starting very near her heart and descending deep, deep down into her belly. And once again it left every nerve ending it touched raw, exposed. There was the memory of her own unadulterated responses to him, asking, demanding, begging. How on earth was she supposed to regain any measure of objectivity when all she could think about since waking up this morning was how fiercely she wanted him again? So much by way of acute pleasure; but ultimately, the knowledge that it was a lot more than this.

After a moment of brilliant clarity where everything she wanted was shown in high relief, where she finally accepted the possibility that they might just be enough for each other, she had taken the leap into the unknown with the certainty that Booth would be there to catch her. And he had, just like she knew he would. She had trusted, and in doing so had come to believe they had a future. Without that hope, she had nothing. Their partnership, their friendship had been left behind on the cool white sheets of his bed. From now on, they would either move forward together, or not at all. The point of no return: there had been complete awareness of where they stood with that first kiss.

And so it was that after all these years, Temperance Brennan had finally given up trying to direct every aspect of her life. The process had been gradual and not at all easy. Booth had long been hauling the unexpected to her door and though she seldom acknowledged it, she actually found the unpredictability to be rather exciting; it made her feel alive. Her eyes were opened to the fact that living life according to plan was oddly unfulfilling. It lacked the spark that made for dreams and creativity; as an anthropologist, she was only too aware that those two single traits were almost all that gave people their humanity. Her partner brought surprise and chaos into her world and she found she liked it, craved it even. And last night? Last night was all about trusting that this next unpredictable step in their journey wouldn't destroy their connection. In any event, her options were severely limited now. Withdrawal was no longer an acceptable choice-if Maluku had taught her anything, it had surely been that.

But what about this morning's maddening situation? With an ease that still amazed her she had deceived herself into thinking that there wouldn't be lasting consequences to their lovemaking. Consequences that in this instance might just prove to be fatal to him. How could she fail to take that factor into account this one time? It had certainly been a consideration in the past; she wasn't a novice at relationships. She'd felt their impact on her work, most notably with Michael and later with Sully, although in both cases the distraction had been challenging but containable. Zack had perhaps been the biggest surprise so far, maybe because she hadn't realized just how big of a part of her life her co-worker had become until he wasn't there. But she always knew just how important Booth was, and she had lost him before and still managed to function. Besides, it wasn't like she hadn't gone over the possible ramifications of being with him numerous times in her head. So why were things this morning so different from what she expected?

The answer was as obvious as it was disturbing: there were other factors now-feelings she had not counted on. She wouldn't put a label on them, because categorizing what they were only made them scarier. Definition meant acceptance and acceptance led to commitment. And though likely that this was well on its way to happening already, even with her formidable processing skills she could only handle so much at one time.

She held the skull up to the glaring fluorescent light for the hundredth time; tiny fractures covering its surface like a myriad roads going nowhere. Cracks pointing to a struggle preceding death, but nothing more so far. She set it back down. If she couldn't bring her rational processes to bear, then last night's choices had truly been in error after all. If something ended up happening to Booth, something that would normally be in her power to prevent…

She thought of Booth again, acknowledging that last night had been as huge a risk for him as it had been for her-in some ways maybe even more-because his heart had been exposed for such a long time now. He was so loving, so patient last night, even as she mindlessly tried losing herself in the frenetic pace of their joining. She knew he deliberately delayed the end in an effort to bring them back to a place that was purely about them and not anything else. And she was grateful, because today there wasn't a shred of doubt in her mind that the decision to be together had been a conscious one and not just the byproduct of events they couldn't control. Only once before her troubles at the lab had started this morning had she come to think it was all a big mistake. Awaking to find Booth dressed and ready to leave, her heart had instinctively shrunk with dread and disappointment, ready to barricade itself in all over again. But it wasn't like that at all; there was a job to do and an obligation to a friend, and she of all people understood that. And he loved her. He had told her, in that tone of voice he always used when he really, really needed her to believe something. She had felt him love her.

So why hadn't she said anything back? Maybe, her life as a scientist was demanding more proof. But no, that wasn't even remotely accurate-she had all the proof in the world; years of evidence, all carefully collected and stored away. It was just another leap, and in the clear morning light she had been terrified of taking yet one more, even when she suspected that her heart had already done it for her.

_No, please. Don't say anything-not right now._ Booth told her he didn't want anything in return and she found comfort in that at the time, but now her conscience was telling her she should have tried regardless. They had both been afraid-he of the reply, she of the truth, and now there might be no time to tell him.

He would need an answer eventually, about the murder, yes, but also about them. The answer to how the victim died would probably prove to be simple and clinical. But what about the way she felt about being with him? She was sure that even though he might not want to hear it, Booth would demand a brutally honest answer; he was the bravest person she knew. He was used to her being nothing but truthful and in this instance anything but the truth was unacceptable. Tonight-she would pull herself together and try to show him tonight that she had finally made up her mind, even if she couldn't say the words yet. If there was a tonight.

Another indulgent glance at the evening before, another bolt of lightning that left her on fire. She was so used to thinking in high concepts and equations, but these images were purely sensory and elemental in nature, overloading her system and wreaking havoc on her ability to think. And there was another kind of worry. Showering this morning, it had suddenly come to her that they hadn't used any means of birth control-mistifying how utterly absent this concern had been last night. Doing a quick calculation of the odds, she pondered about choices. She could stop by a pharmacy on her way to the Jeffersonian; there was still time for that. It was the logical, responsible thing to do, and she dismissed it outright. If Booth died today, she wouldn't do away with the only thing she might have left of him. It was as simple and illogical as that.

She picked up the skull again, feeling like she was caving under all the pressure. Maybe, if she could say something, talk to someone, it might generate some perspective. But wasn't that exactly what had gotten her into all this trouble in the first place? Immersed in the deepest misery, she didn't see Angela walk into the examination room.

"You've been staring at Leishenger's skull for a long time. You trying to get that thing to talk to you?"

"The mastoid process is generally not a target in close-quarter combat. Perhaps I should examine it microscopically" she said with no emotion, fully aware that she was hiding under the cover of scientific jargon.

"You told me that an hour ago. What is going on?" Angela, kind and always perceptive, saw right through her.

"Is this about Vincent?"

"Yes."

"Yeah…?"

"And…I got into bed with Booth last night."

Angela stared at her in wordless shock-and why not? She herself shared in that amazement. Still, her friend's silence was unnerving, holding as it did the possibility of judgment.

"Why aren't you saying anything?"

"Cause I don't want to shout Hallelujah! so close to losing Vincent."

"I think I did it because of Vincent."

"Well, what exactly happened after you crawled into bed with Booth last night?"

As she was debating her choice of words Hodgins suddenly barged into the room, a whirlwind of loose energy and barely intelligible information. His wife looked at him in appalled horror. After the third frantic and unequivocal "go away" he retreated, looking for all intents and purposes like a man fearing for his life. In this case, it might not have been far from the truth.

"Well?" Angela asked, barely containing the excitement in her voice.

She took a deep breath and lowered her eyes to summon some courage. "We slept together."

"Oh. My. God."

After a brief pause, Angela smiled with genuine happiness, a smile which was just as as quickly followed by a frown of concern. "And are you okay with that?"

Staring at the exam table in thoughtful concentration she responded "yes, I believe I am" with a shrug of her shoulders. It was as deliberate and accurate an answer as she had ever given anyone. "Other than for the complete loss this morning of my ability to think rationally."

"Well, it happens; trust me, I've seen worse. So…..how was it?" Angela caught herself and shook her head apologetically. "I don't mean the nuts and bolts, sweetie; just the generalities."

She looked at the table again, her eyes far away from its contents. "I guess it was different than I thought it would be. I knew it would be pleasurable and intense-highly physical; it is Booth after all" she said, trying to suppress a smile. "I mean, it's not as if I haven't often thought about what it would be like with him. And it was good; it was wonderful, in fact. But there was more than just the mechanics." She looked up. "It made me feel safe Angela, and wanted and...loved" she added with a slight shake of the head, feeling somewhat embarrassed by the uncharacteristic, emotional admission.

"Awww, Brennan," Angela sighed; "that's because Booth _loves_ you. He's been in love with you for a long time; we've all known about it forever. His feelings for you are kind of like the 800-pound gorilla in the room: pretty hard to miss."

"I keep wondering why I didn't let myself see it fully before. All this time, even after he said he wanted to give us a chance. I still refused to see it. I even thought that anything he might have felt for me was gone after Hannah arrived."

"No, not gone honey. Just buried. We've all done it; it's called coping. And I think you purposefully didn't let yourself see it so that you could let him get close to you without having to put up your usual barbed wire. And now that you do see it, it's too late to keep him out-_believe_ me. Funny how that works."

"Please don't tell anyone, Angela," she pleaded. "I know that I'm placing you in a terribly uncomfortable situation with Hodgins, but I'm not ready yet-not right now. And it's not just my secret."

Angela touched her shoulder affectionately. "Don't worry-I can keep a secret. Besides, I've known you a lot longer than I've known Hodgins. I wouldn't have even met my hubby if it wasn't for you. I think I owe you a little bit of personal and professional courtesy on that one."

"He woke me up this morning to say goodbye, Ange" she said sadly, her eyes suddenly brimming with tears. "He also asked me to see him tonight; I knew what he meant by that-it's not just about our work anymore." She couldn't bring herself to repeat the other things he told her.

"And what did you say?"

She looked at Angela. "I said yes."

"And are you?" When there was no response, Angela became visibly concerned. "Well?"

"If he comes back, I will see him."

Angela nodded reassuringly. "Of course he'll come back sweetie; Booth is really good at what he does. He'll get that bastard."

"You can't know that-no one can."

"Well, I think you just gave him one hell of an incentive to get back here as soon as possible. He's the best; Broadsky won't beat him."

"That's what Booth said, but you don't understand. He doesn't have all the information he needs; something is missing." Her frustration began showing itself again as she pointed to the table. "It's right here Angela, right here, but I can't find it. This is exactly why I didn't want to get involved with him. Relationships obscure everything."

"They also make a lot of things way clearer. Look hon, you just need to step back and collect yourself, and you can't do that by standing alone in this room hour after hour looking at those empty eye sockets like Hamlet in a bad high school play. You need a distraction-specifically, you need my husband."

"I don't understand."

"You need someone here at your side to interact with, bounce ideas off from. Hodgins can help you get out of this bad place you're stuck in and back into the game-I'm getting him for you. If anyone can help find what you need, it's Hodgins." She turned to leave. "Oh, and in the meantime, stop looking at that skeleton and try saying a little prayer for Booth-it might make you feel better. "

She shook her head dismissively at the suggestion. "You know I don't believe in the power of supplication, Angela. It's a waste of time to request a specific outcome from an entity which most likely doesn't exist. Even if it did, surely Broadsky is requesting a diametrically opposite result."

"_You_ don't believe in it, but Booth does. So maybe if we all combine our thoughts, all that energy can affect how things go. Quantum physics and all. You don't know for a fact that it won't work, do you?" There was no answer. "It can't hurt, and maybe on some level he'll feel that you're rooting for him." Walking away, Angela stopped suddenly at the door and cocked her head.

"Hey, we're going to get you your boyfriend back, okay?" At the mention of the word "boyfriend," her own eyes widened in surprise as full awareness of their possible new standing which each other hit her.

"Don't look at me that way, 'cause he's definitely all yours now, babe. You finally get that ride _all_ to yourself. Punch-buggy, no punch back; comprende?"

Despite not knowing what the phrase meant, she understood anyway. No matter what happened, there would be no exchanges or returns. The answer had been there all along, right in front of her. And for the first time since she was a little girl, Temperance Brennan found herself voicing a hesitant, hopeful prayer to whomever might possibly have a hand in determining the future of one Special Agent Seeley Booth.


	7. Flying

The memorial for Vincent turns out to be a simple, impromptu affair between friends. They want to be there for him one more time, remembering him for the way he was, for his innocence and the joy he took in living, and not for the way he died. Bits of trivia, a song and some humorous stories about a person who has touched them in more ways than they'd ever stopped to consider before.

When it ends, a woman stays behind in the shadows of a chorus that keeps drifting, drifting away. ..._you put the lime in the c_oconut...She's feeling optimistic as she watches two good and dear friends going about their fledgling attempts at flight. Finally, so much later than any of them would have expected-really, almost beyond the timeframe for hope, Brennan and Booth appear ready to leave the comfort of the nest, and she's antsy for them to go out and test their brand new baby wings. Way, way better late than never. Angela isn't feeling too much anxiety on their behalf, because she's certain that this time they're ready; he's been ready forever, and of late, there's been telltale signs of willingness in her friend as well.

Brennan showed up tonight like she said she would, but more significantly, she's brought a present. Maybe a potted hydrangea isn't your typical thing to bring along to a wake, but in this one instance it couldn't be truer that it's the thought that counts. In the past, Angela's witnessed that same woman avoid a gift exchange because it only served to highlight the fact that she didn't belong. She's also seen her at a different memorial of sorts for a friend whose fall still shocks, feeling that she had given nothing, and had nothing to give. But that's not the case tonight. With that plant, Angela recognizes a superhuman effort to reach across isolation and boundaries in an earnest attempt to become part of something bigger-and there's no doubt what prompted the change. Or rather, who.

She said she would come, that if he came back she would see him. And maybe there was a tiny bit of doubt, for those very few in the know; but the smile they shared a few minutes ago and the surprising horticultural gesture went at least part way in clarifying matters. With a sigh of relief, Angela understands that Brennan is coming around to the idea that she has something worthwhile to offer. Still_…c'mon Brennan, you can do better than that; go for it, girl…_

Angela knows that the FBI agent won't be the one making the first move. Won't, can't, because he's fallen into a pattern of being so, so careful with her, afraid of ever expecting anything for himself only to find there's nothing there. And it's been a very long day for him; for all of them, really.

Even in the low light of the loading area, Angela notices that Booth's eyes are following the hearse as it slowly drives away from the Jeffersonian's back door. God knows what he's thinking; the way he is, probably a mixed bag of both guilt and hope. Angela feels for him because Booth truly is a good man who can't seem to ever stop carrying with him all the burdens he's accumulated along the way. She hopes he can forgive himself this one time and that Vincent's death won't be yet another lead weight to contend with in the future.

_Red means stop, green means go. _It's definitely green now. So _Go Brennan, Go_. And Angela tries to refrain from smiling at the reference-Dr. Seuss is a little too much of a close personal friend these days and he's only bound to get closer; Hodgins has already bought the whole collection. But it's true; if this window closes, it probably won't open ever again in quite the same way, if at all. Angela's missed that same window plenty of times, smacking her face hard against the glass when she thought she could still go through. Thank God for her husband's unwavering devotion-she's never ceased being grateful for that one extra chance.

Booth looks a little unnerved and he's pointedly avoiding Brennan's eyes. Angela knows he'll be only too willing to go back for more of the usual, to settle for the same if his partner doesn't make the choice to take last night's forward momentum and run with it. But Angela's been there herself; regardless of what they say about friends with benefits, it doesn't work that way-it just can't. This then, is Custer's last stand for Seeley Booth and Temperance Brennan. If they can't mesh tonight, if they can't weave their dreams and hopes together, they'll just unravel until they end up going their separate ways. And it would be such a crying shame, because if two human beings were ever meant to be together on this earth it's those two people standing there in front of her. She's seen their love, their sacrifice, their open hearts, how they bring out the best in each other and how they fill each other's empty parts. They deserve this opportunity; they _need_ it.

And there's her girl at long last, bravely stepping up to the plate and taking a swing. Angela's heart skips a beat in anticipation, full of certainty that Booth's heart has just done the exact same thing. Brennan, still singing softly in her melodic voice, twines her arm around his and even though Angela can't quite see Booth's expression, she knows he has to be smiling because his partner _wants_ him in just the right way for once. After all they've been through, after the intimate, potentially scary developments of last night, she still wants him. They share a shy little smile, barely daring to look at each other for too long, and Angela is sure now that they're going to be okay. She turns her back to them discreetly, walking into the Jeffersonian to join the rest-she's seen all that she came to see. They're flying; Booth and Brennan are finally flying, together, under a night sky that has suddenly become sunny and cloudlessly blue.


End file.
